


Candles and Chemistry

by yuletide_archivist



Category: 21 Jump Street (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-24
Updated: 2005-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-25 03:26:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1629032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanson, Penhall, pizza and witches. Is there something the McQuaid brothers wouldn't do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candles and Chemistry

**Author's Note:**

> Written for diagon

 

 

Sommerfield High had nothing going for it, not even a somewhat successful football team - Marc hated Sommerfield with its small town values and the small town teachers; its conservative bent drove him up the wall. Still, this was a little much, even for him. The school colors spotted with red, maybe blood, and the mascot burning to ashes. This was the sort of thing he only ever read about in tabloids.

"Seriously," he said to Principal Flutie, "I didn't do it."

Flutie laughed. "It's true, there's no conclusive evidence to tie you to the crime, but we have reason to believe you were there."

"Oh please, I spent Tuesday night playing Scrabble with my sister."

"So that's what they call it today," Flutie said, leering like the sick old bastard he was.

Marc launched himself at the man, stopping mere inches from strangling Flutie. "If you have something to say to me go ahead; but leave my sister out of it, asshole."

Flutie stared back at him, twitching with fear. "Just make sure not to get in any trouble in the future, Mr. Johnson, I'm always watching."

Marc left the office without another word, but couldn't shake the nagging at the back of his mind. Someone was following him, someone he couldn't see when he turned around.

* * *

"Sommerfield High in Hutchinson, Kansas."

Fuller threw the file in front of them like a challenge. Hanson looked at Penhall and shrugged, taking up the thick folder to read up on their new assignment. It was Penhall's turn to complain anyway.

"Kansas, Captain?"

Fuller glared at Penhall. "The Sheriff's an old friend."

Okay, so it was a personal thing. Hanson began to develop a serious migraine at the thought. "Five dead teenagers in seven months, mysterious circumstances. What's that supposed to mean?"

"That's what I want you to find out."

Hanson and Penhall shared a look. "We're going in blind?"

* * *

At least they got a car out of it, though Hanson wouldn't call the heavy truck a car if his life depended on it. Penhall didn't care as long as it had four wheels and went faster than his grandma's old dog.

"What's with the long face?"

Hanson glared at his partner. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"What's not to like? We're on paid leave until further notice, we get our own little house in the prairie and all we have to do is check the place out."

"Exactly. Shady business from start to finish and I don't like it."

Penhall rolled his eyes and turned to watch the landscape rush past them. "Fuller has our back, nothing is going to happen."

Hanson took his eyes from the road long enough to freak Penhall out a little. "I know that, which is why I'm in this sad excuse for a car instead of at home doing Christmas shopping."

"Hah," Penhall said, "You can't fool me! No girlfriend means no Christmas presents."

Hanson grinned, "Yeah, well, maybe I wanted to buy one for _you_." That shut Penhall up for the next twenty miles.

* * *

Their temporary quarters used to be an FBI safe house, but some mob boss had shaken it down years ago, so now it mostly housed rats and wood worms. Penhall grinned at the frown on Hanson's face and grabbed their overnight bags and sleeping mats.

"This is going to be fun," Penhall said.

Hanson threw the car door shut and looked at the run-down farm house in the middle of nowhere. He sighed and followed Penhall through the door. The furniture was old and dusty, but nice enough, and the kitchen had been freshly stocked with anything they might need.

"Thank you, federal government," said Penhall, giving Hanson a mischievous grin. Hanson flipped him the bird and dropped on the couch. Dust floated all around him.

"Yeah, this is great," Hanson said, staring at the spot where the TV should have been. "Hey, I think we've been robbed."

* * *

Principal Flutie looked like an overdressed pig in a wig. The McQuaid brothers would be exactly the right cover to drive this guy up the next wall, with his beady little eyes and the huge ego. Hanson put his feet on the guy's desk, trying for just the right amount of obnoxious.

"I don't know how they handle things in New York," Flutie said, looking pointedly at Hanson's feet, "but in Sommerfield we have certain rules."

Hanson raised his brow and shared a look with Penhall. They both grinned, then turned to Flutie. Hanson took the Principal's penguin paper weight and started to throw it like a baseball. Throw. Catch. Throw.

"You see," Penhall began, crowding Flutie by leaning over his desk, "in New York we have rules too, and number one would be not to mess with the McQuaid brothers."

Flutie swallowed hard. Hanson fought to hold back his grin; wouldn't do to waste all that serious effort Penhall put into scaring people. Really, no one would ever buy Tommy being evil, but Doug? Yeah, that's why Dougie hadn't needed the manslaughter rep in his jacket when the McQuaid brothers made their first appearance.

"Right, Tommy?"

Hanson threw the penguin at the wall and it shattered into a hundred ugly black and white pieces. "Right, Doug."

* * *

"This Johnson has a sheet as long as my arm," said Hanson, grabbing the last piece of pizza.

Penhall leaned backwards over his armchair, straining his back to get to the files spread out over their coffee table. "I still don't think he has anything to do with the dead kids. Have you seen him with his sister? He's a small time criminal, not a murderer."

Hanson sighed and dropped the file he'd been skimming. "I know that, but he's the only lead we have and I'd rather not spend any more time here than I have to."

"What is it with you and this town?"

Hanson growled. "I just- it creeps me out, okay?"

Penhall shrugged, almost sliding off his chair head-first, and Hanson grinned. Penhall abandoned the chair, jumped on the couch and made himself comfortable in Hanson's personal space. Hanson remembered a time when that would have freaked him out, but Penhall had a way about him, crashing through Hanson's defenses like a tsunami.

"Is it the green glowy rocks?"

Hanson rolled his eyes, punching Penhall's shoulder. "Shut up, we're not in Smallville and you look nothing like Clark Kent."

"I bet Superman could solve this case in a heartbeat."

Hanson frowned. "Yeah, but Superman doesn't have to worry about police procedure. Besides, the guy is basically a vigilante who only respects the laws he chooses."

"You're just loads of fun today, Mr. Grumpy."

Hanson poked Penhall in the side, which only caused him to lean closer. Hanson tried to push him off with a hand on Penhall's chest, but Penhall had more reach and quite the advantage weight-wise.

"You're like the dog I had as a kid. When you start to pee on the rug or slobber all over me, you can sleep outside."

Penhall grinned. "Too bad, I was looking forward to a bit of cuddling."

Hanson made the mistake to think about it too long. He took a breath and tried for a smile, playing over the thought that had entered his mind unbidden and unwelcome. Penhall frowned and sat back, looking at anything but Hanson, grabbing the top-most file. He must have read that one at least five times in the last hour, still he concentrated on it like it held the answers to life, the universe and everything.

"Maybe it's Flutie," Hanson offered, kicking himself for losing conrol like that. It wasn't even that he was - or would be - interested in Penhall. Just- the possibility hadn't occurred to him until now and the thought had some merit.

Penhall took a breath, straightened his shoulders and turned to grin at Hanson, hiding behind a funny face. If that's what he needed, fine. "We should grill him for information."

They both laughed because there was nothing else to do.

* * *

No self-respecting McQuaid paid attention in English Lit, so Penhall and Hanson built small, incredibly sharp paper airplanes and threw them at anyone who raised their hand. Zipping through the air like bullets they hurt considerably on impact, which just made it funnier for the people who'd decided to keep their hands on their tables.

"You'd think they'd get the picture after the third crash," Penhall said, throwing at Marie Koombs. The teacher wore a haunted expression, too frightened from their preformance the day before to do anything.

Hanson shrugged. "Book smarts."

"Yeah, never worked for me either."

Marc Johnson grinned.

In the hall he waited for them, still amused, though definitely more subdued than before. "I heard rumors about you two."

Penhall punched Hanson's shoulder. "You see? I told you we had secret admirers."

Hanson pushed past the kid, "You should learn not to listen to rumors. It's bad for your teeth."

Marc laughed. Hanson and Penhall shared a look that said `psychopath' loud and clear. Maybe there was something to the guy after all, at least enough to keep an eye on him. Hanson breathed and turned to Marc.

"We heard stuff about _you_ as well."

* * *

Another night, another greasy pizza. Hanson had claimed the chair this time, making himself comfortable with no chance of Penhall in his lap by accident. Not that he was thinking about any non-accidental ways his partner might end up between his legs, because he was _over_ that phase, had been for years.

"Do you believe him?"

Penhall shrugged, stuffing a cold piece of Canadian bacon in his mouth. "Guess it's no more strange than any other explanation. There was no conclusive cause of death on any of the victims, y'know. Could be magic."

Hanson turned his doubtful glare on Penhall. "Magic?" he said with one eye-brow raised.

Penhall went for another piece of pizza. "It's this town. There's something in the air."

Hanson blinked. "Magic."

"You said so yourself, the place is creepy."

Hanson took a file, browsed through it to check on a few facts, but his brain was still working through Penhall's proposition. "Magic? You know there's no such thing, right?"

Penhall groaned. "I don't know, maybe those kids used poison or died from a disease no one has ever heard of, or maybe that voodoo stuff really does work."

"You're not serious."

Penhall made a face that gave Hanson really bad ideas. It wasn't good for the morale of the team for him to be alone with Penhall this long, for the others it must be like missing a field trip because you got stung by a bee and developed an allergic reaction- and really, he would feel better with Hoffs and Ioki around, just because.

Just because Penhall had no idea how good he looked with his tight t-shirts and the pouty lips.

"I'm just saying we should check them out. Maybe they know something that can shed some light on this case."

And then they could go home. Hanson smiled. "Okay, but no more magic."

* * *

"Well," Tara said, "I guess I could ask the others, but I can't promise anything." She had khool-lined eyes and wore a thick layer of powder on her pretty face, but it was the black lipstick and collar that turned her from any fashion victim to someone seduced by the dark side of the force.

Hanson wondered why it was always him having to convince the girls, Penhall seemed much smoother - in and out of cover.

"Whatever," Hanson said, "'s just my brother and me need someone to show us around, some friendly people, if you know what I mean." Not that Hanson knew what exactly it meant, Tara didn't exactly look like the kind who'd go for the usual drugs that the McQuaids had a rep for. Tara seemed to buy it, though, blushing under the layer of white, though Hanson had yet to figure out what good this arrangement could do them.

"Uhm, you could just come to my place tonight, the others are going to be there, too. Then you could talk to them."

Hanson took the piece of paper with the hastily scribbled address and hoped for the best.

* * *

"How do we know we can trust you?"

It all went downhill from there. Hanson and Penhall at a slumber party for vampires or witches or whatever these people were, and the mistrust, usually cultivated by the McQuaids, was thick in the air. Then Tara had an idea and Hanson wanted to beat his head against the nearest wall repeatedly.

"They could do something, something really bad, to show that we can trust them."

And then Penhall made Hanson want to kill him slowly, with a spoon. "Hey, lady, we're the McQuaid brothers, we can do anything."

To which the head-witch responded: "I see, so this would have to be something awful even for you, to make it a real sacrifice."

Hanson had no idea how sacrificing had entered the equation, but there it was, like an ugly cancerous growth on their innocent conversation. Tara seemed enamoured with the idea to find the worst possible thing they would have to do and Penhall began to lose that smug look of his. Who knew the McQuaids were superstitious?

"How about you kiss your brother?"

And that was when Hanson started believing in fate, karma and exceptionally bad luck.

* * *

They didn't look at each other in the car. They went through the door one after the other, eyes on the floor. They sat quietly at opposite ends of the living room and stared at their newly pretend-to-be-stolen TV without turning it on, Hanson's thoughts straying to _a hot, heavy tongue pressing into his mouth and fingers in his hair, grabbing for a hold like he was the one likely to run away._

"So," said Penhall. Penhall, whose fingers had left imprints on Hanson's skin, marking him, opening doors that had been boarded up for too long.

"So," said Hanson.

"I guess they didn't have anything to do with the deaths after all, huh?"

Hanson tried to remember when they had found the time to ask any questions, between _stubbled skin and the scent of sweat and motor oil_ and _a thousand things he shouldn't do, but Penhall moaning under him made Hanson forget and the people around them didn't matter, nothing mattered except the need, the need to-_ yeah, Hanson hadn't exactly been in any condition to work the case, and if this was Penhall's talent he should become an actor, possibly in the porn industry.

"I guess."

Penhall winced, Hanson could see it from the corner of his eye. "So." It was amazing how Penhall managed to put so much meaning into one single word, so much _god, I just kissed a guy_ and _man, this really sucks_.

"Yeah," Hanson said, wondering what could possibly make this moment worse.

"Uhm, do you- do you do this a lot?"

Karma. Or possibly voodoo. In fact, Hanson began to think a deity had made it its personal responsibility to make Hanson's life hell. "Kissing my partners in the line of duty, you mean? I can honestly say that that was my first." The venom came easy and with it some kind of normalcy. He knew how to create distance, he'd always been good at that.

Penhall got angry too, which could go both ways. Penhall was a grabby kind of guy and Hanson had no idea what would happen if they got close enough. Because the only thing he was sure about, besides _this partnership is completely fucked_ , was the way Penhall had gone with it, taken control of a supposed-to-be-chaste kiss and turned into near-porn.

"Do you kiss guys a lot, because that was- that was-" Penhall made a gesture of frustration. Neither of them had the words, because this was wrong and very much the hottest thing Hanson had done in a long time, but also _wrong_.

Except, not as wrong as it could be. Hanson chuckled, too much emotional stress spilling out of him.

"What's so funny?" Penhall looked almost pleading and that just set Hanson off on another bout of giggles.

"Just," Hanson said, between laughs, "I'm really kind of glad we're not actually the McQuaid brothers."

Penhall looked amused, and _fixed_ which was far more important - he didn't seem to want to run off at the next opportunity. "Hmm, maybe. But you know, those McQuaid brothers really do touch a lot."

Hanson got his breathing back under control, tried for a normal rhythm that didn't give away how much he was dreading or hoping for certain possibilities of this conversation. Except for the McQuaid bit, that was just too far out there, but-

"I guess it's not so unexpected," he said, walking over to Penhall with his hands in tight fists to stop them from shaking, "they do spend a lot of time together and that Tommy guy seems to be open for all kinds of weird things."

"Doug, too, I suppose," Penhall said. He sounded a little weirded out, but not like someone about to punch Hanson in the face.

"So," Hanson said, and this time he had all kinds of promises packed into that word.

Penhall blushed as Hanson dropped to his knees in front of his friend and partner, and there was something endearing about that. Penhall had all that tough guy image that Hanson had never quite been able to make work for him, and now Hanson had to take his hand and say something corny and romantic and utterly ridiculous to stop the guy from freaking out. Because this could be easy.

This was maybe the scariest thing of his life, but it could be easy, this could be right.

So Hanson took a deep breath, looked into Penhall's eyes, and tried the stupidest pick-up line he could think of. Penhall took a moment to react, but when the ridiculousness registered, he burst out laughing so hard, he almost fell off the chair.

"I can't believe you just said that," Penhall said, hands on Hanson's shoulders for balance.

"I can't quite believe it either," Hanson said, smiling through the nervousness. He hadn't done anything like this, a few gropes in the locker room with the quarterback didn't measure up, there had been no real consequences back then.

Penhall looked up, almost vulnerable with those questioning eyes. "Uhm, what now? I mean, I know waht now, it's just-"

Hanson leaned down, closed his eyes and let the flow take him over. They had this, at least, the physical between them had its own life, like fire. His hands rested on Penhall's face, his lips moving slowly, teasing for now. Penhall opened his mouth, maybe for a breath, but Hanson used to chance to slip his tongue into Penhall's mouth, tasting, exploring.

They broke apart and looked at each other, Penhall with a look of amazement. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," Hanson said, "see, now that's magic."

Penhall grinned. "I'll show you magic, Mr. Hanson."

With that Penhall lost every bit of shyness and took charge. Hanson could only hold on and enjoy the ride as Penhall drew him down on the couch and started kissing him like Hanson was going to disappear any second. They kissed hard and fast and sloppy, and Hanson couldn't remember ever feeling this good.

His hands strayed to Penhall's back and down to his ass, grabbing, holding tight and pulling Penhall as close as possible. They moved together, rubbed against each other, and Hanson felt the tightness in his groin, the answering hardness from Penhall. God, this was amazing.

He took a breath, breaking away to look at Penhall, and damn, the man looked like the best porn, with slick lips and deep, dark eyes. "How far do you go on the first date, Mr. Penhall."

Penhall grinned and leaned down to lick at Hanson's ear. The tingle went right to Hanson's cock, making him moan. "We've been dating for months, Hanson."

They'd been dancing around each other for months, always pushing their boundaries, burrowing ever deeper under the other's skin. This was merely a continuation of the theme, but it sure felt like a big step, the way Penhall massaged Hanson's shoulders, and deeper, down, to very sensitive parts-

"God, I need to get you out of these clothes."

They both laughed. "Agreed," Hanson said.

Pulling off the other's shirts proved to be somewhat difficult, especially since they would have to stop kissing to get rid of the clothes. Hanson pushed himself up just to get this done fast and efficiently, because any second he spent with more layers between them than necessary was a second wasted.

Penhall lay on the couch like a lazy cat, watching Hanson undress with a mischievous smile. "Keep doing that and I won't need any more encouragement."

Hanson looked down at himself with a bit of confusion. "What?"

Penhall reached out for him, cupping Hanson's face with his large, calloused hands. It sent shivers down Hanson's spine, thinking of those hands all over his skin, bringing him to new heights, and always there to catch him. Hell, who needed to breathe anyway?

"Do you even know how fucking beautiful you are?" Penhall looked at him almost as if he was some kind of miracle, it was both embarrassing and unbelivably hot.

"Actually, I get that all the time."

Penhall laughed, kissing him to shut him up. Hanson had to admit it worked just fine. They moved in synch, breathing hard and drawing ever closer. Two suns, burning hot, on a collision course for a blinding explosion. Hanson opened the fly of Penhall's jeans with one hand, needing to feel everything.

Penhall's cock was thick and hard under his fingers, pulsing with the fluttering beat of his heart. Penhall gasped as Hanson started stroking, both of them moving with the rhythm, even as it grew erratic.

"Dammit, yes, right there-" Penhall had a dirty mouth in bed. Hanson almost laughed but found a better way to occupy his mouth, by kissing a path down Penhall's neck. He used his free hand to push Penhall's shirt up and licked at the perky nipples that greeted him. Penhall groaned, something very akin to words came out of his mouth, but nothing that made any sense.

"Tommy, god, do that again."

Hanson raised an eyebrow while turning his wrist to drive Penhall crazy. "Tommy?"

Penhall raised his head, flushed and sweating and just a little out of his mind, grinning like the maniac he was. "It's your name, isn't it?"

Hanson shrugged. "I'm not sure that _Tommy_ is the kind of guy who'd do this," at which Hanson slid down and licked at the head of Penhall's cock. The obscene little noises from Penhall reached right into Hanson, making his skin tingle all over.

"Or this," Hanson said, before pursing his lips and taking Penhall in as far as he could manage.

"God, anything- anything you want, just- Hanson, what the hell?"

Hanson grinned up at Penhalll with a Chesire smile, licking his lips. Penhall followed the movement of his tongue, moaning a little as Hanson used his hand to keep him on the very edge. "Call me anything, but Tommy is the little guy on my old yearbook pictures. He's not the guy doing this."

Licking down Penhall's cock, Hanson used his hand to massage Penhall's balls, teasing more of the breathy moans out of him. The skin felt hot and silky under his fingertips, the thought of that hard cock thrusting not just into his mouth, but maybe into his ass, taking him, filling him-

"Tom, god, Tom. I think- yeah, that's it."

Penhall tensed, all nerves firing at once, then relaxed, riding out the after shocks. The sight alone was enough to bring Hanson back to the brink of his own orgasm. He leaned up to kiss Penhall, who let him into his mouth and everywhere, slow and sweet.

Penhall's hands roamed over his body and Hanson let himself get lost in the feeling, riding the waves of pleasure as Penhall explored his skin. Somehow Hanson's pants ended up on the floor and Penhall's fingers danced over every inch of bare skin. The feeling was electric, setting his nerves on fire.

"Uhm, c'mon, Doug," he said, needing the touch on his dick. "You're driving me crazy here."

Penhall laughed quietly, whispering into Hanson's ear, "That's kind of the point, isn't it?"

Then, finally, those very clever fingers on his heated flesh. Rubbing and stroking, drawing tiny circles on hot skin, Penhall had more than just talent for this, he was a natural genius. Though at this moment Hanson might have been a bit biased, as he was coming his brains out.

They grabbed a blanket and fell asleep right there on the couch. Hanson decided that Penhall made a great pillow, but damn if the guy didn't snore like a lumberjack.

* * *

"HELLO!"

Everyone scrambled out of the bathroom as if stung by wasps, and the McQuaid brothers had their office. This time, though, they weren't dealing drugs or shaking down small time criminals.

"You know," Hanson said as he drew back from kissing Penhall, "this cover was the best idea ever."

Penhall showed his agreement without words.

* * *

Principal Flutie looked a little flustered as Penhall and Hanson showed him their badges and arrested him for the murder of five High School students. The McQuaids had roughed him up a little, before, to protect their cover. Really. It was perfectly legal.

"See," Hanson said, "what I don't get is why. Did they miss their homework? Come late to class?"

Flutie, a former chemistry teacher, had been brewing a volatile poison and used it on his students, five of which died from the complications. Others had been admitted to the hospital with stomach pain or allerigc reactions, no one had made the connection until now.

Flutie giggled hysterically, "I just wanted to see if it worked. It was an experiment, no one was supposed to die!"

Hanson shared a look of disgust with Penhall and enjoyed more than ever to flash his badge and make a public scene out of the arrest.

* * *

Back home, in front of the chapel, neither of them wanted to go in. Penhall fidgeted in his seat and Hanson chewed on his lips.

"We could just keep driving."

Hanson shook his head. "Nah, Fuller would catch up to us before we made it to the Canadian border."

"So," Penhall said, looking at his fingers.

Hanson sighed, dropped his head on the steering wheel and tried to sort through his jumbled thoughts. "So, no more girlfriends, and I need to buy you a Christmas present after all."

Penhall touched Hanson's cheek, perhaps a little nervously. "Alright, presents, pizza and waking up to your ugly mug in the morning. I guess I can deal with that."

Penhall opened the door with a grin and got out. Hanson blinked, frowned and jumped out of the car. "Hey," he yelled, "who said anything about waking up?"

Penhall looked around to check if anyone was there and walked over to Hanson, stopping mere inches before him. "Like you can still get out of bed after the many mind-blowing orgasms."

"Unless we're having sex at my place and I throw you out after I'm done with you."

"Right," Penhall said, leaning close enough so they breathed the same air, "you just go ahead and try."

Hanson kissed Penhall hard and fast, allowing himself ten seconds of bliss before steeling himself for a full day of not quite touching and watching Penhall chew on his pens.

"You know what," Hanson said, thinking of ways to get Penhall hot and bothered, "I think this is going to be fun."

 


End file.
